


La Petite Mort

by sessrumnir



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Ass to Mouth, Come Eating, M/M, PWP, The Sallie House, Under-negotiated Kink, alcohol ment cw, fear kink, no lube we bang like horny teenagers, shyanexchange2k18, shyanwritingevents, vaguely canon compliant (filming the first episode)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15818778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sessrumnir/pseuds/sessrumnir
Summary: And maybe his drunk self was just being overly poetic, or maybe he is just that good at concealing what he’s feeling, but Shane thinks it’s something else. He thinks that Ryan simply isn’t scared by what he’s reading about, not in the cold sweat, trembling lips kinda way. Just like he isn’t scared of horror movies to begin with. And that means Shane would never have the chance to witness whether or not Ryan’s confession had any validity to it.That is, until Ryan decides to sleep in a supposedly haunted house and bring Shane along with him.





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bobleak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobleak/gifts).



> the person who requested this, bobleak, asked for fear kink in the sallie house. with an added detail: shane already knew about it before they went in to film the episode mmmmm which is just about the best prompt ever, so thank you, buddy!!!
> 
> "la petite mort" is a french expression used these days to talk about--yeah, you guessed it, an orgasm! and fear kink just gives it a whole new meaning too in my book. lol
> 
> this is straightup pwp but god, what a prompt. hope I did it justice, and I hope you like it, bobleak!! :D

Ryan and Shane are different types of drunk.

Shane is the type to get loud and dumb, singing along to songs he barely knows the lyrics to, slurring his words, celebrating just about anything he sees around him.

Ryan, on the other hand, is the type of drunk that doesn’t even sound like he’s drunk—except for the fact that he likes to admit to things he probably would never admit while sober. He comes onto Shane at least twice, to no avail because Shane has a strict no hooking up with feelings while under the influence, and shares more than his sober self would ever admit about his insecurities and fears.

So when Ryan decides, after a handful of shots, to share that feeling scared turns him on like nothing else, Shane is only mildly surprised about his sudden burst of honesty.

The thing is, he is still thinking about it the next morning. And the next. And the next. He doesn’t have the heart to talk to a sober Ryan about it, because maybe he regrets telling Shane, and it would be unkind to bring it up again. Maybe he thinks Shane forgot—it wouldn’t be the first time with Shane. In any case, that knowledge hangs over Shane’s head for a while, to the point that he starts having dreams about it.

Ryan, walking into his apartment going on and on about some sort of alien threat as he drops to his knees in front of Shane.

Ryan, having a weird, interdimensional chat with a being that is just about to turn a corner and catch him, begging Shane to touch him, _please, please, Shane…_

Ryan, bringing Shane to a place he claims is the house of a certain serial killer they both know by name, and straddling Shane’s lips to ride him, hushed moans falling off his lips.

It’s not like this kind of dream is a new thing to him. He has had what could only be called a _crush_ (Jesus Christ, is he 17?)on Ryan for the better part of a year now, almost ever since they met, and dreams where they make out aren’t exactly novelty in Shane’s life. What’s different is the scenario—ever since Ryan admitted that he gets turned on by being scared, the dreams have changed to a scared, desperate Ryan practically begging for Shane to fuck him.

Which shouldn’t turn Shane on like it does every other night.

He starts paying more attention to Ryan’s incessant talk about crime and ghosts. Sure, Ryan seems to be particularly interested in those things, and he is passionate about it, but he isn’t exactly running to the bathroom whenever he starts talking about a case or anything. He doesn’t _look_ turned on, is what Shane gathers. And maybe his drunk self was just being overly poetic, or maybe he is just that good at concealing what he’s feeling, but Shane thinks it’s something else. He thinks that Ryan simply isn’t scared by what he’s reading about, not in the cold sweat, trembling lips kinda way. Just like he isn’t scared of horror movies to begin with. And that means Shane would never have the chance to witness whether or not Ryan’s confession had any validity to it.

That is, until Ryan decides to sleep in a supposedly haunted house and bring Shane along with him.

They’re filming what Ryan calls “experiments”, or what he wants to turn into a series if he can only show BuzzFeed there’s enough viewers for that. The Winchester House allows Shane to gauge Ryan’s reaction to things, see how he behaves in the dark, supposedly trying to talk to spirits and whatnot. It’s… interesting, to say the least. Ryan’s cool demeanor over the supernatural he adores so much flies out of the window the minute they turn off the lights and step inside with nothing but flashlights. Mark is right behind them, and Shane can’t help but watch Ryan from the corner of his eyes.

He tests the waters, sees if Ryan will react poorly to a sharp knock on the wall behind him, and he does. The scream he lets out is funny, truth be told, but Shane doesn’t miss the way Ryan avoids his eyes and turns his back to him when he comes out.

Well.

In Mexico, Ryan is jittery, but mostly fine. Shane figures that a larger crew helps with his nerves—and the sky looks pretty beyond the canopy of the trees. They have fun, and it’s all frankly ridiculous, to the point that Shane barely remembers anything about undisclosed kinks.

That is, until the Sallie House happens.

Ryan has been grabbing the wheel with white knuckles, eyes already as wide as they can go before the car is even properly parked in front of the building. It’s a small-ish, plain house, that looks as boring as the other houses around it.

“Hey buddy, you okay?” Shane asks, because he has to. Ryan swallows dry.

“Yeah. No, actually, I’m not okay. I don’t—I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Shane glances at Mark in the backseat. He shrugs.

“You wanna cancel this whole thing? There’s still time.”

“What?” Ryan looks at him with eyebrows furrowed. “No, we’re doing this. I’m doing this. Oh god, please don’t let this be the night a demon murks me in my sleep.”

Shane laughs, but Ryan doesn’t smile. He’s serious. With a bit more coaxing they’re out of the car and walking over to the house. They have the keys, and Shane unlocks it beforehand so they can film their entrance. Ryan is on another level of fear, he thinks—his eyes are glazed over, and he looks like he’d rather eat mud than enter that house.

So Shane turns it into a joke, pulling his phone out of his pocket and turning on the front-facing camera.

“Oh shit, waddup, I’m taking a selfie with some demons, yo! Hell yeah! Great, that’ll be good, I’m gonna snap that.”

Ryan stares at him like he wants to murder him right there and then.

“What’s the matter?” He laughs, because he knows what the matter is.

“You’re insufferable,” is all Ryan says.

It goes well, for the most part. They film the interior, sit down at least three times for exposition shots, and finally meet the so-called investigator Ryan has contacted. It’s a burly guy that would look pretty normal if his whole business wasn’t swindling people with strong beliefs, Shane thinks. Ryan is eating up whatever bullshit he comes up with, though, so there’s that. Shane wonders if Ryan is doing all of this on purpose—if he’s somehow testing _himself_ to see how well he does on a situation like this.

In any case, the “investigator” has plenty to tell Ryan, which gives Shane the opportunity to talk to Mark where Ryan can’t hear them.

“Mark,” Shane starts, trying to think of the best way to ask what he’s about to ask. “What would you think if I tried to pull a prank on Ryan tonight?”

Mark gives him an inescrutable look. “A prank? What kind?”

“You know. Make some noise upstairs, see how he reacts to it.”

“How would you do that?” Mark asks, already guessing where this is going.

“Well, I couldn’t. He’d suspect me right away. But if you were willing to stay another ten minutes after you announce you’re going home…”

“Right…”

“I mean, it’s an innocent prank. It wouldn’t mess up with what we already got, we can tell him it was a prank later, and we can scrap the footage if he screams too much and somehow makes me go deaf in one ear.”

Mark smiles. Shane isn’t sure if he found his joke funny or if he’s just picturing the overnight footage. Maybe he’s picturing Shane going half deaf from Ryan’s screaming. You can never know with Mark.

“Sure. A few taps on the windows upstairs?”

“Perfect. Just don’t… break your neck or anything.”

Mark laughs out loud this time, drawing Ryan’s attention, then nods. _Sure_.

The problem with Shane’s brilliant plan is that he wasn’t expecting the second half of filming to be what it was. Chaotic. Loud. Ryan looks so close to losing his mind, Shane kinda regrets planning to scare him even _more_. But he’s watching him, and even though Ryan’s hands are trembling and he looks paler than ever before, he’s not backing out. Shane offers a couple of times to just wrap it up there and call it a night, but Ryan’s having none of it. He wants this. He wants to go through with it.

And it’s the second time he’s asking this that he sees Ryan’s pupils blown wide. Ryan licks his lips, waiting for Shane to continue, but he’s lost his train of thought.

“Alright, man? I’m fine. Well, not fine, but—You still there?”

“Yeah,” Shane says, because wow. Ryan is even holding his head higher, chest expanding in front of him. Shane tries his goddamn best not to look down. “Yeah, sure. I just…”

“What?”

“Are you turned on right now?”

It comes out so easily it almost doesn’t sound like the stupidest thing he could possibly ask. Ryan blinks, surprised—but thankfully, not offended. And then proceeds to give Shane a nervous, slightly embarrassed smile, “I thought you had forgotten about that.”

“No,” is all Shane says. He watches as Ryan looks over Shane’s shoulder, checking to see if the others aren’t listening.

“Why’d ask?”

“Well, I—” _I was curious?_ That sounds idiotic even in his head. “I don’t know. You look like it.”

That alarms Ryan, and Shane adds:

“Not that it’s obvious, it’s just—I guess I know you well enough to know you’re a notch too high-strung for this to be, you know. ‘Oh god help me a demon wants to kill me’ scared.”

“How is that not reason to be high-strung?”

“Look, I can’t explain how I know the difference. But you look like you—”

“You guys ready?” Mark calls over, reminding both of them of what they’re supposed to be doing.

“Sure,” Ryan steps around Shane, giving him a pointed look that Shane doesn’t quite know how to interpret. They get back to filming, and by the time Mr Paranormal Investigator leaves, Ryan looks close to a heart attack.

“We’re gonna die,” he announces to the room.

Mark, who has been setting up the main camera in a tripod, bag already slung over his shoulder, chuckles. “Quite the material I’ll have tomorrow.”

“Oh yes, if we die please make a movie out of it,” Shane says. “Sue BuzzFeed if you have to, just turn our deaths into your breakout piece. I’m giving my formal consent,” he adds to the camera. “For Mark Celestino to use the footage of my death to make a pretentious, award-worthy documentary.”

Ryan visibly shudders from where he’s lying on the ground. “Don’t joke about that, dude.”

“I’m not joking. If I’m kicking the bucket this early I might as well provide some gory content to the world.”

A minute after that, Mark leaves to—technically—go home. He messages Shane on his phone, a mere “ _game on_ ” that suggests he’s having more fun with this stupid prank than he’d let on. Aware that time is of the essence now, Shane speeds up the process of making their beds and getting their water bottles for the night. He dims the lights and immediately hears Ryan go, “What are you doing?”

Shane hesitates. “Are we sleeping with the lights on?”

“ _No_ ,” Ryan replies with all the convincing tones of a house plant. “Alright. I guess—I guess that’s it. Jesus Christ. I wish I had messaged my mom before it was 2 in fucking the morning but fuck me, I guess.”

“Well, if you’re asking so nicely…” Shane jokes.

It takes a second for Ryan to catch up on the fact that it’s a joke, and Shane surmises that yes, he is indeed scared out of his mind. That’s not far from what they usually say to each other on a daily basis, but it takes twice as it usually does for him to understand. He laughs and says something like _shut up, Shane_ under his breath.

Shane wonders how much of that confusion comes from how turned on Ryan may or may not be right now.

It’s only when they’re lying down, Ryan babbling like he wants to scare any entities away by being annoyingly chatty, that they hear it. Ryan picks it up first, freezing in place, and then Shane hears it.

Scraping. Slow, deliberate scraping coming from upstairs.

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no,” Ryan chants as he scrambles to sit up and grab his phone at the same time.

“Ryan, what—”

The sound grows into frantic, aggressive scraping, and Ryan freezes again. He’s staring at the ceiling like he can see what’s on the other side.

“It’s probably the wind,” Shane says dumbly, trying his best not to laugh.

Ryan turns to glare at him, but he moves so suddenly that his current position half kneeling, half sitting down topples him over. He almost falls on his face, protecting the phone on his hand, except that Shane grabs his arm on instinct, keeping him upright.

He also, unfortunately, reached a hand in front of him to stop Ryan from completely toppling over.

The touch lasts less than a second, but it’s enough. His fingers graze a bulge that’s not noticeable in Ryan’s extra large pants, and he looks up immediately, pulling his hands back.

“Shut up,” Ryan says before he can open his mouth.

“ _Seriously_?”

“I said shut up, Sha—”

He stops when he hears it. Music, coming from upstairs. It’s melodic, beautiful, but eerie in the darkness of a (supposedly) empty house. If anything, it sounds like a music box, long forgotten. Shane makes a mental note to praise Mark’s pranking skills the next day, while Ryan seems to go boneless.

“No, no, no, no. No, this can’t—No, I can’t—I don’t—”

“Ryan, calm down…”

Ryan stands up and starts pacing around, noticeably with his back turned to Shane.

“I can’t, no, that’s not—Fuck, this is fucked up, Shane, I don’t—You fucked us over, dude, you shouldn’t have talked to it, you shouldn’t—”

“I’ll go take a look.”

He stands up too, finally, and Ryan’s breath hitches. “No.”

“Well, what do you want me to do, then?”

It’s a simple question, but Ryan hesitates. Shane didn’t intend for it to sound like he was propositioning him, and he doesn’t think it sounds that way, but he can’t begin to guess what is going on through Ryan’s mind.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Shane…” Ryan all but _whines_ , then lets out a string of curse words that would make Kelsey Darragh blush.

Shane doesn’t let that stop him. He walks upstairs, using his phone’s flashlight to show him the way. He thinks that if he can get two seconds to himself, he can message Mark and say that it’s enough—the song has stopped in the meantime, but he doesn’t know if Mark is preparing something else. Except that as soon as he’s reached the top of the stairs, Ryan practically runs up behind him, getting to the second floor with wide eyes and visibly out of breath.

“You’re not leaving me behind, asshole.”

“Alright,” Shane says, amused.

They do a quick look around, peering inside rooms and confirming that, indeed, there’s nothing there. As they leave the master bedroom, Shane turns to sing his victory to Ryan, something along the lines of _ha! told ya, no such thing as ghosts hiding in moldy bedrooms!,_ except Ryan hasn’t followed him. He’s still inside the master bedroom, looking around as if expecting something to run up at him at any given moment.

That gives Shane an idea.

It’s a little shitty, and he feels bad for scaring an already pretty scared Ryan, but hey. If he doesn’t try this out today, when will he have an opportunity again?

He quietly walks off towards one of the rooms already checked by them. As he walks inside, trying as best as he can not to make a sound, he turns off his flashlight and turns airplane mode on on his phone. He considers hiding under the bed, or inside the closet, but decides against it in favor of his good health. Instead, he stands there, hidden in the shadows, as immobile as possible.

“ _S-Shane?_ ”

Ryan’s voice comes wavering from across the hall. A couple of steps, then nothing.

“ _Shane, don’t do this. Come on, man_.”

Shane doesn’t move. Muttering unintelligible words that Shane can’t parse from this room, Ryan seems to be waving the flashlight around him, because the lights are dancing in the hallway.

“ _Shane,_ ” Ryan calls again, and his voice, dear god, comes out like a broken off whimper. He gets restless, apparently, because he walks out of the room in large strides, turning his flashlight everywhere. With a clank he drops it, hissing when the light goes out. There’s the sound of clothes rustling—Ryan bending down to pick up—and then: _click. Click. Click. Clickclickclick._ “ _Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, no, no, please, please work, please—Shane—_ ”

Praying to all gods he doesn’t know if he believes in to allow him to do it quietly, Shane starts walking towards the door. He’s part fascinated and part trying hard not to laugh. He’s considering how to best scare Ryan, if a jump-and-scream will suffice, or if he should try something fancy like doing a demonic voice from behind him… But Ryan cuts his thoughts short when he says, closer now that Shane is right by the door that leads to the hallway:

“Shane, please, don’t—I-I can’t take it, I’m gonna cream my pants, seriously, don’t—Don’t you fucking dare to jump behind me—”

Surprisingly enough—or maybe not that surprising if he were honest to himself—, Shane feels himself hesitate. There’s something oddly beautiful about the way Ryan says that; like he’s stating the obvious, like Shane knows that already, and Ryan’s embarrassed about having to say it out loud. Shane feels his face hot, and then not his face. He’s watching Ryan, or what little he can see of Ryan’s back in the dark, and maybe he’s thinking with the wrong head, but he approaches Ryan from behind. He doesn’t touch him, not like _that_ , but he lets long fingers grab strong hips with a feathery touch and gets close enough to his ear to whisper, “Do it.”

Ryan yelps, hands flying to hold Shane’s where they are, around his hips. He tries to say something but he’s shaking, half-formed sentences coming in short gasps. That’s a man on the edge, if Shane has ever seen one (and he has). It all happens quite fast—one second he’s approaching Ryan, touching him on the sides, and the other he’s pressing his chest against Ryan’s back, suddenly very curious to see whatever it is that Ryan is hiding from him. Ryan melts against him, chest heaving, and Shane realizes he has his eyes closed shut.

“You want this?” Shane asks, because he’s not sure Ryan is there with him, if he understands who is there with him. Ryan nods, meekly at first but then firmly, quicker.

“Shane,” he croaks out. “Shane, _please_.”

With the incentive, Shane’s right hand slides down Ryan’s stomach and pelvis until he’s feeling the bulge he felt before, only impossibly harder. Ryan shudders, mouth falling open, and Shane cups him, mesmerized by the way Ryan seems to have completely given himself over to the moment so quickly. It’s hard not to do the same when there’s only darkness and silence around them, when it’s a place Shane is not at all familiarized with, when all that seems to exist is Ryan’s ragged breathing and raging boner.

It’s not like how he imagined. It’s not even close to how he dreamed it would happen, because he never dared hope, too used to things not panning out when it comes to his feelings for a friend. This is better. So much better that Shane has to bite his lips not to groan when he slips his hand inside Ryan’s pants and wraps it around him.

Ryan is hard, warm, _alive_. And just as Shane touches him, Ryan arches his back, “Shane, _Shane_ , I’m gonna—”

“No.” Shane wraps his fingers around the base of Ryan’s cock, making Ryan gasp in surprise. “Don’t. Not now.”

“But you said—”

“You had your chance. I wanna see you.”

He’s purposefully deepening his voice, using that growl that he saves for things like this and entirely different from this, an edge that he wouldn’t feel comfortable adopting otherwise. It’s a hungry growl, a slow, dragged, menacing growl that worsens Ryan’s shudders. He keeps his grip around Ryan’s dick as he lowers his head and bites the skin visible over the collar of Ryan’s shirt.

Ryan muffles a scream just in time; his free hand is still pressing Shane’s hand against his hip.

“I can’t—” He whines from behind his fingers. “I can’t, Shane, I’m gonna come, I can’ hold it, I—”

“What is it that does it for you?” Shane asks, calmy, nibbing on the skin of Ryan’s neck, sucking what he is sure is gonna be a bruise tomorrow. “Mm? Is it death? Physical harm? The idea that there’s something watching your every move, maybe seeing through your clothes?”

“That’s ridiculous, d-demons can’t see through our clothes.”

“Then what is it?” Shane gives his cock a short-lived tug, and Ryan keens. “Why are you so hard just from being here?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t _—Ah,_ _please—_ ”

Shane lets him go all of a sudden, going around him and dropping to his knees. Ryan only has time to say _what the fuck_? before Shane tugs his pants down in a swift motion, resuming his grip on the base of Ryan’s dick and taking the head into his mouth.

Ryan’s knees buckle; for half a second Shane worries that he’s gonna actually fall over him, until Ryan’s hands find purchase on his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it.

“Jesus _Christ_ , warn a g-guy next time!”

“No,” Shane says around the dick in his mouth, but it’s muffled, and he doesn’t care enough to try again, just goes to town right away; for all that he has dreamed about doing this with Ryan one day, nothing compares to the reality of it. The weight and the texture of it against his tongue combined with the sounds Ryan is doing his best to keep down above him. The fingers tangled in his hair, actually pulling, making tears spring in Shane’s eyes. It’s messy, and the floor hurts his knees, but it’s perfect. He’s lost in the moment, taking joy in every little tremor that comes from Ryan’s body, cock still impossibly hard in his mouth.

The pleas for him to let him come are getting louder, and Ryan’s every two words is a curse that loses steam once it comes out with a moan, a guttural sound that is the total opposite to the high-pitched sounds also leaving his mouth. He’s a symphony, and Shane could keep this up until his jaw started to ache, but he’s not _that_ sadistic. So he pulls his hand back and sucks particularly hard, making Ryan come almost on command, spilling hot and desperate on his mouth.

This time, Ryan’s knees _do_ fail him, and he slowly crumbles to the ground next to Shane, who is happy to help him sit down. He touches Ryan’s face, warm and beautiful under the bit of moonlight that filters through from the rooms around them, and brings him in for a kiss. Ryan responds to it, enthusiastically, and Shane feels it’s safe to open his mouth. Instead of pulling back, like Shane thought he might do, he welcomes it—he opens his mouth wider and lets Shane share the come sitting on his tongue, which is probably the wildest thing he never thought Ryan would go along with. But he does, happily so, moaning into the kiss as he tastes himself on Shane’s lips.

“Gorgeous,” Shane says.

“Filthy,” Ryan counters, making Shane laugh.

“Not mutually exclusive. If I knew you were into demon fucking I would’ve pitched this idea months ago.”

Ryan smiles, and Shane can feel it against his lips.

“What do you mean, monster fucking? Is this you coming out as a demon?”

“Why? Would that turn you on?”

The shiver that goes over Ryan’s body is enough of an answer. As if the question alone has done the job, Ryan kisses him hard, shifting so he can straddle Shane’s legs without ever breaking the kiss. He pushes down against the bulge on Shane’s crotch, and Shane groans. “Warn a guy next time.”

Ryan laughs, “ _No.”_

That goes on for as long as Shane thinks he can last, hands grabbing Ryan’s ass to help him grind down. But then he remembers something crucial.

“I have a condom in my wallet downstairs.”

“I’m clean,” Ryan says, kissing his jaw, making Shane’s insides dance with the way his stubble is scratching his face.

“Test Friends,” he says, idiotically. Ryan nods against his neck. They have both been tested not a month before for a video—it’s Ryan’s words that bring the memory back, since he said the same thing in the video. A video Shane will never watch again without thinking of this night. “God, Ryan…”

“Come on, big guy. Fuck me. I need you.”

 _I need you_. That’s something Shane will have to think about later, because at the moment it goes straight to his dick. He pulls back from Ryan’s kisses and starts to stand up, bringing him up with him. Ryan lets him, and Shane walks him over to the nearest wall.

“Turn around,” his voice is deep again, and Ryan does so immediately, bracing his hands on the wall. That gives Shane the perfect view of his ass, pants and boxers still hanging around his thighs where Shane had left them. “Gorgeous.”

The question of lube Shane solves easily enough—he spits on his fingers, brushing them against Ryan’s hole, but then pulls back to offer it to Ryan. He takes it in his mouth, coating them with saliva, and Shane’s mouth waters with the way Ryan’s tongue is swirling around his fingers. It’s in the seconds that he’s watching that show, mesmerized, that they hear it again: scratching, loud and clear, closer than it had been before. Ryan widens his eyes, and Shane can almost feel the fear igniting again inside him. He meets Ryan’s eyes, questioning him without saying a word.

In response, Ryan sucks harder on his fingers, whining desperately.

It’s nothing Shane ever imagined happening, but he can’t help but feel himself getting harder with the idea that Ryan _wants_ that to happen—he gets off on it, literally, and god, that shouldn’t be so hot. But it is, and when Shane pulls his fingers out of Ryan’s mouth, bringing it back to his hole, Ryan is practically purring.

Before he pushes in, Shane meets Ryan’s eyes again. “What if it’s here? What if the demon is here, just waiting for the right opportunity to possess one of us? What if it possessed me right now?”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Ryan lets his head drop, pushing back against Shane’s fingers. “No, no, it wouldn’t, fuck—Don’t say that—”

“You sure about that?” Shane says and finally, _finally_ breaches him, first with the pad of a finger, then two, making quick work of pressing them inside. Ryan’s entire body is humming with pent-up pleasure, something telling Shane that if he were to reach in front of him he’d find Ryan as hard as if he hadn’t come. “I think you’d like that. I don’t know. Something tells me you would. Maybe it’s the demon.”

Ryan moans so loudly that Shane worries for a second about the cameras downstairs picking it up. Then he realizes they must’ve already picked up quite enough to render the footage useless anyway.

When he works the two fingers to the hilt, he adds a third. It’s too dry, so he pulls back to spit on his hand again and shoves it back in. Ryan is grasping at nothing, still bracing himself against the wall.

“Please, please, Shane, _Jesus fuck_ —”

Shane pulls his fingers back and takes his dick out. He’s so goddamn hard. He enjoys the view for a second—Ryan, panting, standing with his back turned to him, ass up and waiting for him—then presses the head against Ryan’s hole. Before pushing in, he calls out, “Demon! You there?”

“ _Holyshit_ , Shane—”

“Now’s the time to kill us, demon! We’re in the dark and with our pants around our ankles, come and get us!”

“ _Shane—_ ” Ryan is begging, whining, crying. “Shane, _please—_ ”

He leans forward, pressing Ryan against the wall with his body, whispering darkly against his ear. “Maybe the demon was with you all along.”

Then he pushes inside, not letting up until his pelvis touches Ryan’s cheeks. Ryan is moaning incoherently, begging and pleading and _yes, Shane, please, oh my God, please—_

Shane finds a rhythm right away. He’s watching Ryan for any sign of discomfort, any sign that he wants to bail out of this, but he doesn’t give him any. Ryan seems lost to the feeling, face pressed against the wall, eyes scrunched shut. He doesn’t even try to muffle his moans anymore; whatever he’s picturing in his head he doesn’t share, but Shane doesn’t have to be a genius to understand that Ryan would love nothing more than to open his eyes and find horns springing out of Shane’s forehead. Alas, he’s a mere mortal and can’t conjure horns at any given time, but he can give Ryan the best fuck of his life, and so he does. He learns fast what gives him the best reactions from Ryan, and soon enough Ryan is clenching around him, pushing back, begging desperately for him not to stop, until he comes—untouched this time, Shane notices.

It’s such a perfect mix of sensations that Shane follows him right after, spurting inside at first before Ryan pulls back and turns around. Before Shane can register what’s happening, Ryan is licking his dick and pumping it fast with his mouth open in front of him. Most of it goes inside, but a couple shots hit Ryan across the face, barely missing his right eye, coating his cheek. It’s one of the most—if not _the_ most—intense orgasms of his life. Shane’s legs feel like jelly, and his head is on cloud nine.

Ryan, almost hungrily so, cleans him up by licking the come off him and tucking him inside his pants again. Then he stands up and pulls his own pants back up, picking up his useless flashlight. With a brush of his fingers and a swipe of his tongue, the come that was on his face is gone.

“We should leave.”

“What—Are you ok?”

“I am, we are, but I still don’t think it’s safe to be here, dude, I—We just banged in front of a demon, what if it thinks we’re making fun of it or—You fucking _impersonated_ it, we’re so screwed if we stay in this shithole for another minute...”

Shane laughs, but follows him to the living room, using his phone to light the way.

“I’m glad the fact that I just had my dick up your butt isn’t the issue here.”

“Of course not, and that’s why we should leave,” Ryan starts gathering all his things in a big pile on the floor. “I want that dick up my ass again and that won’t happen if we die tonight.”

“Wow, Ryan. So romantic.”

Ryan laughs, but he looks straight into Shane’s eyes, “I’m serious, I don’t feel safe here, let’s go.”

And in what is probably very quick movements for someone who has just been fucked with barely any lubrication, Ryan picks up his stuff in a bundle and half runs out of the house, leaving Shane to lock the door behind him.

“Hey,” Shane calls after him, watching him drop everything on the backseat of the car. “We should film us leaving or something?”

Ryan stares at him, horrified. “Oh, fuck. We should.”

“Get your bed, we’ll be out in less than a minute.” Shane checks his watch. “Oh, it’s not even 3 yet. Almost, though.”

“Great,” Ryan says, walking past him faster than Shane has ever seen a human being walk. “We’ll do something about the witching hour and get the fuck out of here.”

“The _what_ now?”

And in they went again, in the first of what would turn out to be many sleepovers at supposedly haunted locations.

Now, at least, Shane had every reason to follow Ryan in these investigations.


End file.
